Poem: Easter Sunday

So that’s that:
another matter-of-fact year
with another matter-of-fact re-conquering
of death and all death’s forces done
while we – and you, I guess – slept.

But they tell me you were lightning
coursing through the earth’s crusted veins,
quickening plasma crashing in
with all the thunder
of a fluttering gasp and a heartbeat back

into the quiet dark. Which makes me
wonder, How long did you lie there,
loving the stale air and calm
before rolling off onto the
ground and into glory?

Do you miss them,
those few minutes when
no one knew you were alive and
you could finally rest with your miracles
of breath, stone, and solitude?

And is this to be my sanctification,
darkening blood and a stone-turning chest?

Well – sit with me then, in silence,
and think of those first moments.
I will learn to find life in this,
and you will find a home
in my slow-warming grave.

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